Inquisiting Lavellan
by MTibbs89
Summary: Dorian pays Lavellan an unexpected visit and the Inquisitor plays with fire. ((Oneshot. Mature for M/M smut))


**Warning: Man on man smut ahead. If you are offended by it, don't read this. You have been warned.**

Mahanon sat at the edge of his bed, shirtless, staring in the mirror. He traced his hands absently down the scars that marred his flesh. He'd earned his fair share of wounds over the years when he had served his clan as a warrior and hunter, but in just the few months since becoming the so-called 'Herald of Andraste,' they had at least tripled in number. Being made Inquisitor didn't help matters in the slightest. He sighed, rubbing tired eyes and falling back into the pillows.

Shame he couldn't just go to a healer like a normal person. The humans who now relied on him viewed him as a hero and their champion. Truly it was an honor, but it was a terrible weight to bear. In these troubled times he couldn't bring himself to let them down, even once. If they saw that he was just as vulnerable as any one of them, what would they do? They might lose hope and fall into despair. Or they might realize their god hadn't chosen him at all and cast him out. Humans generally didn't elevate elves to positions of power; his kind simply weren't trusted. It only pushed him harder to keep up the guise—the appearance of an invincible, unflappable hero—even for his closest companions.

He often answered their concerns with a quip and a smile, usually making them laugh and forget their problems for a while. He had become a shoulder for them to cry on, had gone out of his way to help them with personal problems, but not once did he share his burdens with them. He never let them know when he was screaming on the inside, or even when he was badly injured.

He just grinned and bore it, and much as he enjoyed helping, he was getting so very tired of it all.

"So…" A voice cut into his thoughts and he jumped, drawing the covers over his shoulders to hide his naked skin and looked at the source of the voice; Dorian.

He shifted uncomfortably, turning his face away to hide his reddening cheeks. Dorian was the last person he wanted knowing. He'd had a certain attraction to the man since their second meeting, where Dorian had saved his life, risking his own in the process. They had flirted a few times in the months that followed, stolen glances when nobody was looking. They had even kissed, twice. Both times had been quick, fleeting moments of passion, where they'd gotten lost in a moment, only to realize where they were and what they were doing, drawing away before anyone could see. Their budding relationship would be a scandal if anyone knew; the Dalish and the 'evil' Tevinter magister—both men, no less.

Of course, based on the whispers he had been hearing, some had already guessed and they didn't like the influence the Tevinter was having over their Herald.

When he glanced back over his shoulder it was to see Dorian fixing him with a hard stare. Those piercing, intelligent eyes never missed a thing. He crossed the room in a graceful stride most humans lacked and in an instant was sitting next to the Inquisitor, looking him up and down. "What are you hiding?" His voice usually held a dramatic flair, like he was waiting for applause, but now it was subdued—concerned.

He wasn't sure why he pretended. Dorian would see right through it. But still he smiled his cat-like grin and said, "Nothing. Why are you here, Dorian?" It was meant to distract, but it was a genuine question; Dorian had never been to his quarters before.

Dorian didn't respond. Instead he gripped the top of the blankets at Mahanon's shoulders, tugging lightly but insistently. At first, the elf resisted, clenching the fabric more tightly about him. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized there was no real point. In his wildest imaginings, he'd seen the mage stripping his clothing off and doing things to his body the chantry would most certainly frown upon. He wanted those imaginings to come alive, yearned for the man's touch. If he were ever to get what he wanted, Dorian would see him naked eventually. Wouldn't it be better for Dorian to see him before things looked any worse?

Reluctantly, he let go and the covers fell away. He stared pointedly at the wall as he felt the man's eyes probing him. He flinched when gentle fingers unexpectedly brushed the skin on his back. Their eyes met and he saw the very thing he had been dreading; pity.

"What's all this, then?" Dorian said as he traced a somewhat fresh wound on Mahanon's ribs; it had been from a mace. The blow had crushed his armor and broken ribs. The bones had been healed with a potion but the bruising was still present.

Mahanon winced, but laughed it off. "Ticklish."

"Is that so?" Dorian quirked a brow then, frowning, pressed down lightly. Pain burst from the touch and drew a strangled cry from the elf. "That's what I thought," the mage said with a sigh, "Why haven't you been to a healer?" He opened his hand and a blue light shown from his palm as he ran it over recent wounds. Mahanon could feel warmth as the magic worked to heal them.

"I can't."

"You _can't?_ " he said incredulously, "Last I checked, there was a perfectly suitable infirmary in the courtyard and you have a perfectly _fetching_ pair of legs. Why not use them?"

"They're overcrowded as it is," he said lamely, "I didn't want to be a bother."

"Is that all?" Dorian scoffed, "You're the Inquisitor. They'd bend over backwards to see to your needs."

"They shouldn't have to!" he snapped. Suddenly, before Dorian could interrupt, Mahanon launched into every excuse he had made, every fear and anxiety that he'd pent up and allowed to fester inside him. After a long rant, he ended with his fears of what he was certain the people expected of him. "I can't let them down, Dorian."

Dorian surveyed him with an amused smirk. "Honestly. How can such a _clever_ man be so _stupid_?"

Mahanon blinked, taken aback. "Talent, I suppose. One of my many charms."

That seemed to diffuse things a bit. Dorian pulled his hand away after healing the last wound. "There's still scarring, of course. But I personally find them to be quite dashing." That made Mahanon smile. "Still. Promise me you'll go to a healer next time? You're no use to the people if you're dead. If that crushes their opinion of you, then… well. Fuck what they think."

"I'd rather fuck you." It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Quiet, under his breath, but in the open.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Mm-hmm…" Dorian fixed him with a knowing look. "I suppose that brings us to why I'm here."

Mahanon looked up into his eyes sharply, curiosity and hope flaring all at once.

"It's all very nice, this flirting business. I am, however, not a nice man. So, here is my proposal: we dispense with all the chitchat and move on to something more…" He stroked his flawlessly curled mustache, "Primal." Mahanon could feel his pulse rising, pounding in his ears. "It'll set tongues wagging, of course, not that they aren't already wagging." Dorian grinned, then leaned in, his lips brushing the elf's pointed ear, his breath tickling Mahanon's neck as he muttered in a sensually rumbling voice, "I suppose it really depends. How _bad_ does the Inquisitor want to be?"

A shiver ran up his spine and his cheeks flushed. "I thought you'd never ask."

Dorian drew away, a fire glinting in his eyes. "I like playing hard to get."

"And now?"

"I'm gotten." He caught Mahanon's chin in his hand and kissed him forcefully, his free hand tangling in the elf's long, dark hair. He hungrily pressed his lips against the magister's, parting them and letting the man's tongue slide in and explore his mouth. He wanted to taste every part of him.

Suddenly, a nervous, self-conscious thought occurred to him and he pulled back, both hands pressing firmly on Dorian's chest.

"Having second thoughts?" he said it with a note of humor, his lips curled up at the corners, though it seemed to be masking hurt.

"No," Mahanon said quickly, "I just…" Oh, creators, what would Dorian think of him? "I've not done this before."

"You—you're a _virgin?_ " He sounded more amused than anything. Mahanon just nodded slowly, biting his lip and refusing to meet Dorian's eye. "Well," Dorian said with a chuckle, "Lucky for us both, I have plenty of experience."

"You still want…?"

"Well, we all start somewhere, don't we? Just follow my lead."

Mahanon, overcome with relief, grabbed Dorian by the collar of his silk robes, stood on the tips of his toes, and kissed him passionately. With trembling fingers he worked at the buttons and straps that kept the robes in place. After some fumbling and some much-needed help from Dorian, the over-complicated robe fell to the floor, quickly forgotten.

In a rush, Mahanon felt himself falling backwards onto his bed, pushed by Dorian who quickly followed. Lips locked and Dorian's hands wandered. Fingers brushed the sensitive skin of his nipples and then traced down, under his pants and cupping him between the legs— a light tease that was far too fleeting. Panting, they worked at each other's buckles until their trousers were stripped away and they both lay in bed naked.

"One minute," Dorian muttered in his ear. He reached over the edge of the mattress and, after a moment, withdrew a bottle of some odd concoction from his robes and set it on the nightstand. Mahanon gave him a questioning look and he only smirked. "We'll be needing that." He kissed Mahanon again and stuck his thumb in the jar, rubbing the thick ointment between his fingers until they were saturated with the stuff.

He looked concerned, briefly, as he surveyed the elf's body. "You're really very narrow."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, that depends. This might hurt."

Mahanon eyed him for a moment, feeling slightly anxious. He licked his lips, still tasting Dorian there. "I trust you."

"You might reconsider that stance," Dorian said, a dangerous glint in his eye, "In fact, if all goes well, you _will_ reconsider. But by the time I'm done with you, you'll love me for it."

A shudder coursed through him at the thought—not of fear or revulsion, but of excitement. _'I see you like playing with fire, Inquisitor.'_ Dorian had said that weeks ago, when Mahanon had expressed an interest in the man. It seemed there was a lot of truth to the statement.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Dorian's fingers hovered near his posterior. Mahanon nodded. Dorian slid a finger into him, followed shortly by another. It felt… odd. He must have made a face because Dorian simply laughed, leaning forward and planting a reassuring kiss on his forehead. "Don't worry. It'll get better."

With that he slid a third finger in, slowly stretching Mahanon out. At first it hurt a little and mostly felt awkward, until suddenly Dorian hit something inside him that sent a thrill through his body. Mahanon's breath hitched in his throat and his back arched. The mage apparently knew exactly what he was doing because he did it again and again, a sly grin spreading across his features as he saw Mahanon's cock stiffening.

"There, see?"

His mouth was too dry to speak and he was at a loss for words, so the elf simply nodded. He reached down to play with himself, but Dorian suddenly caught him by the wrist.

"Not yet."

"But-"

"Trust me, remember?" He pulled Mahanon's arms back, pinning them both above his head with one hand—far stronger than Mahanon would have given any mage credit for—and then began pumping himself with the other, lubricating his own member with the ointment. He hiked Mahanon's legs over his hips and positioned himself at Mahanon's opening, pressing against it tantalizingly. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Mahanon whispered.

"Sorry? Didn't hear that."

 _Bastard._ "Yes!" He repeated, almost shouting the word. Almost instantly, he regretted it as the mage thrust into him. Though Dorian was clearly restraining himself, he was still a bit much for Mahanon to take and the elf cried out—it felt like something had torn. His fingers clenched at empty air until Dorian repositioned his hand, letting Mahanon grip it tightly as he waited. He kissed Mahanon's neck and mouth and cheeks as the elf recovered his breath, trembling.

"Relax. It'll hurt less." After Mahanon calmed down a bit, Dorian began moving in him, slowly at first, allowing Mahanon to get used to him, and then more quickly. As he hit his stride, he managed to keep finding that wondrous spot that sent thrills of pleasure through the elf. He occasionally reached down and stroked Mahanon's cock and his balls, teasing them just to keep him erect. He licked down Mahanon's chest and nibbled on his nipples. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to twinge.

Soon, Mahanon met the rhythm. He arched his back and met each of Dorian's thrusts as the man's hips slammed against his ass. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. Finally, the tight, hot feeling in his groin became too much to bear; it hurt, almost like fire.

Just when he wanted to wrench his hands free of Dorian's grip and take care of things, Dorian stopped thrusting into him. He slowed his movement, a light sway of the hips for a massaging sensation as finally he slid his fingers up and down Mahanon's length. The speed and intensity was irregular at first, alternating between firm gripping and pumping and light teasing. As soon as Mahanon was on the verge of exploding, Dorian was moving in him again, his every thrust conveying need and passion—a hunger that seemed insatiable, and his hand on Mahanon's cock became firmer as he pulled and pumped and then—

Mahanon moaned as he felt something hot and sticky pouring into him—and spilling out of him—as he reached his climax, leaving a sticky white mess on Dorian's hand. He lay there panting and Dorian collapsed beside him. He had never felt something so incredible in all his life, even with the pain. He would do it again a thousand times over, but he was far too tired right then to do much of anything. He glanced over at his bedmate. The mage licked his fingers seductively, a mischievous grin on his face, then leaned over and kissed Mahanon full on the lips—he could taste himself on Dorian now, bitter and salty, but he returned the kiss in earnest.

They lay like that for what felt like hours, Mahanon resting his head on Dorian's chest, his arm draped over him, listening to the soothing sound of the other man's heartbeat until he was lulled into sleep.

Almost as soon as he drifted off he felt movement under him. He opened his eyes sleepily and peered out into the dark. He could just make out Dorian's silhouette as he was putting his clothes back on. A panic rose in his chest and he flung the covers back, running after the man, stark naked. He stumbled a bit—couldn't quite walk straight given the ache in his insides. He caught Dorian by the arm. "Wait. Where are you going?"

Dorian peered back at him in the moonlight. "Wouldn't want them getting suspicious, would you?"

"Fuck what they think."

"Hah!" Dorian smirked, though there seemed to be something else on his mind. "Where do you think this is going between us?"

"I-" Mahanon trembled. He hoped, especially after a night like theirs—such a deep connection, such immeasurable pleasure. He had, for the time, been able to forget his burdens and his worries. To just _be_ and to be with Dorian. Now it looked like the mage was ready to leave him. He'd had his fun. But—there was more to it. There had to be. There was a pain in the man's eyes. "I had hoped for something more."

"More what? More fun? We've had fun. Perfectly reasonable to leave it here—get on with the business of killing arch-demons and such." He sounded business-like. Like he'd just hired a whore and was done with him. It stung.

"Is that what you want?" His voice cracked.

Dorian sighed. "I like you. More than I should. More than might be wise. We end it here, I walk away." Mahanon stumbled backwards like he'd been slapped, but Dorian caught him, pressing a finger to his lips and continuing, "I _won't be pleased,_ but rather now, than later. Later… might be dangerous."

"Why 'dangerous?'" Mahanon said slowly, clinging to the tiny glimmer of hope he'd felt when Dorian had caught him.

"Walking away might be harder then." Dorian said, his eyes clouding over.

"I want more than just fun, Dorian." Mahanon whispered, almost afraid that if he spoke too loudly he might break whatever threads had bound them. He felt like he was tiptoeing around a room full of shattered glass. The look on Dorian's face prompted him to continue, cautiously, forcing a light-hearted smile onto his lips. "Speechless, I see."

"I was… expecting something different." Dorian said, almost choking on some unseen lump in his throat, "Where I come from, anything between two men—it's about pleasure. It's accepted, but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. You'd be foolish to."

Mahanon felt his pulse quickening again, that spark of hope igniting. "So let's _be_ foolish!"

"Hard habit to break…" Dorian said after a moment.

"I'm good at breaking things."

"Hopefully not everything," the mage said with a wry smile. He cleared his throat. "Care to, ah, Inquisit me again? I'll be more specific with my directions this time."

"Heh. Show-off," Mahanon smirked. They kissed one more time before Dorian dragged him toward the bed and they fell in.


End file.
